The Haunted Bridge
J.A.'s Misadventure.
The Mackenson Institute’s yearly Christmas party was winding down, and I excused myself. Dr. Wilson, Dr. Easton, other members of the faculty, our paranormal investigation team, and a small number of students were left to enjoy the evening. I left Bram’s Lecture Hall and walked across campus to my office. I was looking for someone who I thought might be there waiting on me in the darkness, but found no one. I immediately realized that my office door was unlocked. I went in, and there she was.
The woman before me was beautiful. She was perfect—too perfect—with the unblemished features of a doll. She was like a Greek statue created by one of the old masters—a statue that came to life, like Pygmalion’s Galatea. Unlike Galatea, however, the lady in my office was clearly a woman of color. She was the color of a dark Islander, or perhaps someone of Mayan extraction. I would find out shortly.
I half-bowed and nodded my head to acknowledge her presence. I then turned my back to her and filled two glasses with a local vineyard’s blend of sweet red wine. I took a drink, and then sat the other glass before her.
“Sorry for stealing your chair,” she said. “It’s an old habit. The one in the big chair is usually the one in power. That’s why when we speak with our clients, we put them in the largest chair, is it not?” She sniffed the wine, and then tasted it.
“It makes them more comfortable during counseling sessions,” I said. “And it gives the impression that they are in control. Are you a counselor?”
“After a fashion; I am many things, Doctor. You may be surprised to hear that I am more than I appear to be. I suspect that you already know much about me, or your servants would not have sought me out when I was resting.”
“Perhaps I do know many things, but I don’t have servants. If you will tell me outright whether you’re the one I've been seeking, I would be pleased. Who are you? Or what are you?”
“Who? What? I was born in the city of Mersin, Turkey, 400 years ago: In the 1600s, to be exact. Today the area is better known as the Ottoman Empire; it was an empire of science and learning. I was called Azra, and it was my duty to clean the opera house where I lived. I know not if I was free or a slave or how I came to live there, but I did have a master who told me what to do. He seemed to be a good Muslim man, and he was kind to me until I reached a certain age. After that, he did with me as he pleased. He made me what I am today.”
“And what are you, Azra?”
“The name I am called by today is Aylin Reis Begum. Begum is a royal title in my country, you know. But the name and the title means nothing to me. I am simply part of an aristocracy that does not exist anymore. My name was given to me by the families of those who have shared their life force with me. The life is indeed in the blood, as you surely know.”
“Indeed. I also knew that you once dwelled in Turkey for many years.”
“As to your question: I think you know what I am,” she continued, smiling. She was toying with me, apparently. Well, she thought she was.
“Yes, I do now. And I did earlier. You’re half dressed and not bothered by the cold—just like a corpse. I’d guess that to embrace you would be like hugging a corpse. I also had my phone out back at the party, recording video. Do you know that you can’t be seen on a video recording? That’s a useful piece of information.”
“I know. It’s unfortunate that you won’t be alive long enough to use that information. Now, Dr. Williamson...I’ve been looking forward to having you for dinner. Literally. The vampire’s fangs extended and she flashed me a wicked grin. “Come to me,” it commanded.
“I think not,” I declared, shaking my head. She looked at me with surprise.
“It’s a simple pheromone blocker, developed right here on this campus. It means your charisma spell doesn’t work on me, you aristocratic leech. I don’t have a meal for you, but I do have this.” I produced a special metal-tipped cedar stake and pronounced certain words of empowerment, invoking the name of a Turkish sun goddess who strikes terror into undead hearts: “By the blessings of the sun goddess Gun Ana, strike down the undead enemy!”
I flung myself at the woman. My aim was true, but there was no scream or raging or other violence when the weapon pierced her. Killing the undead is nothing like it is depicted in the movies. She simply died and collapsed into my arms. I gently lowered her to the tile floor.
“I just had to be the one to put you down.” I whispered to her.
I called Dr. Wilson from the office. She answered on the first ring. “We’re outside. Is it done?”
“It is. She won’t be bothering any of us. Or anyone else, for that matter. Get some people in here to remove the body. I want it cremated and stored in the vault.”
“On it.”
Aylin Reis Begum wasn’t the first or last vampire that I’ve sent into the beyond. Since that time I’ve dispatched a werewolf and dealt with a number of supernatural crises and hauntings. I even took down a zombie one time. A real life zombie, so to speak. Things that should not dwell on earth do dwell on earth. These things are real, and as long as I am alive, Mackenson Institute will hunt them.
Ridding the world of things that should not be is part of my occupation. I should be fearless. For the most part, I am, except for one particular haunting that has been with me since before I reached the age of 10. How shall I tell the tale? In the following paragraphs I will attempt to tell the story.
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